


inception au

by pendules



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Inception, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3714730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inception AU featuring Kaka as the Extractor, Xabi as the Architect, Iker as the Point Man, Sergio as the Forger, Sheva as the Shade and Cristiano as the Tourist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I started this in 2011. I hope to continue it someday, but for now, it's incomplete.

Iker really hates his life sometimes. Really, really fucking hates. Even when he's not currently living that life. Even when he's explicitly asleep in that life, and two levels down. Actually, maybe with each level, his exasperation with his life and everyone in it increases exponentially. He would do the math, but right now, he just wants to sit down and breathe, and try not to flip out. And try to think rationally.

Because - he can't believe this is fucking happening again. Because this, this was not the plan. _This was not the plan._

He'd start wishing this was all a dream - that the job was tomorrow and this is just his nerves translating over to his subconscious while he was in an uneasy sleep in some nondescript hotel room somewhere. He'd start wishing that this was just a run-through that started feeling too real somewhere along the way. He'd start wishing this was reality, and that he was awake, and - 

He'd reach for his totem. He'd do all these things if he weren't Iker Casillas, and if his (well, technically _their_ ) job wasn't in jeopardy right now.

This was not the plan.

He decides, there and then, he's going to fucking shoot Sergio - or the pretty blonde in the cocktail dress he's currently impersonating - in the head as soon as he gets there. Let him spend a couple decades in Limbo, if it means he'll finally fucking learn to not mess with the goddamned plan.

 

*

 

It's kind of strange to think that all of this had started with Sergio trying to pick him up in a bar in Singapore.


	2. Chapter 2

Iker stares. Iker stares for a few minutes more than would be considered polite. Because honestly - _honestly_ \- this guy cannot be the guy Ricky sent him here to meet. He's wearing _paisley_. With what looks like a purple suit in the artificial lighting of the bar. Not to mention his hair. _The hair_. This guy - this Ramos - doesn't seem fazed by the staring though. In fact, he seems to be taking it as quite the opposite of rude by the way he's fucking _leering_ at him. And no, Jesus, no, he did not sign up for this. He absolutely did not.

His phone chooses the most convenient time to go off then, before either of them can say anything.

_I'm in your corner of the world, meet for drinks?_

He thinks, _what_ , because that is...unexpected. Firstly, because he thought he'd deleted that number (he's sure, he's sure...or maybe he dreamt it). Secondly, no one just texts Iker Casillas after a year of radio silence and expects him to meet them for drinks. Thirdly, _his corner of the world_. He's pretty sure he hasn't had one for a long while now. In fact, the reason he no longer did was because of the sender of this message himself. He means Madrid, though, of course. Madrid where they spent full days in bed and he made promises Iker never asked for but _believed_ anyway.

He doesn't reply. He uses the distraction to send a quick message to Ricky: _you owe me big time for this._

He pictures him laughing at this, sitting outside a cafe in Paris, probably in the cream suit with the first two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned, eyes crinkling behind his aviators. 

He gets a response almost immediately: _someone had to do it. good luck over there. meeting with the architect soon. we're making progress, never fear._

Iker sighs, turns back to the man next to him at the bar.

"Can I help you?"

"I should be asking you that." He's smiling cheekily and Iker wonders if this urge to punch him in the face will go away.

"You're the one who approached me." 

"Oh, come on, don't deny that you've been making eyes at me from across the room all night."

No, not going away in the near future.

And then, "I've never seen you here before. You don't look like the normal type."

"Neither do you." _You don't look like you belong in this solar system._

"So do you want to get out of here?" And he's baring his fucking teeth almost, and Iker feels like the scotch is on its way back up his throat.

"Yeah, I have a room upstairs."

"Excellent."

"I hope you think the same of the business proposition I have for you, Mr. Ramos."

And his face instantly grows serious for the first time.

Iker smiles, also for the first time.

 

Iker remembers Ricky saying, _He's the best. Not always the most careful, but the best._ Iker doesn't know if this is actually true (his research has been inconclusive), but he's willing to admit that he's good. Or a bit more than good, even.

Iker outlines the job, tells him that they're discreet, very discreet, tells him the pay will be very generous, tells him that it's worth it. Coming out of hiding will be worth it.

Iker knows the decision's made when Sergio says, "I miss it, you know. It gets kind of addictive, I suppose, after a while."

Iker knows that too well.

(Of course, he leaves out a few parts. But technically, they're still criminals. Lying - or well, lying by omission - is part of the job description. And, obviously, they're kind of desperate.)

 

His thumb hovers over the delete button for a second. He thinks, _fuck_ , then tosses the phone down on the bedside table. He sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, presses the heels of his palms to his eyes for a moment, just breathes. Then one of Sergio's snores interrupts the silence, and he pulls his legs up on to the bed, takes a long time to fall into a fitful sleep.

 

The next morning, he wakes up to (3) new messages.

The latest says: _did you sleep with him?_

(So, he really didn't delete the number. He just dreamt it. Again.)

And what. No, really. What the fuck?

The previous one says: _you're in singapore._

A statement, not a question.

The one before that says: _architect on board. hope everything's sorted on your end. ;)_

Everything is so fucking far from sorted.

 

He kicks at Sergio's shins hard until he wakes up and gets out of bed.

"Get the fuck up. We have a flight to catch in an hour."

 

He looks even less presentable during the day, Iker figures out eventually, the sunlight making the clashing colours even more blinding. He's never going to catch a break.

His head still hurts. He adjusts his tie after he steps out of the cab. He takes off his sunglasses as he walks through the automatic doors, Sergio still smirking at his side.

He's already sensing that the next few weeks are going to be complicated.

 

Ricky texts him an address when they land in Paris. He assumes that's the new Architect's place and they'd been up all night geeking out about dream building or carpet material or whatever the fuck Architects talk about. He goes to their hotel first, though, to drop his stuff off. And Sergio, because he just needs to be away from and from all of that for a couple hours. Or more, much more.

Sergio disappears outside the room, saying he's going to get ice, and Iker steps onto the balcony, sliding the glass door close behind him.

"Why now?" is the first thing he says. "It's been an entire year. Why _now_?"

"I told you. I was in Madrid on business. I wanted to see how you were. I mean...I wanted to see _you_."

"And when you realised I wasn't there, you tracked me down."

"I was curious. And rightfully so, apparently. So who was the guy?"

"I - You can't -"

"I was just testing something. The fact that you didn't reply immediately, outraged, shows there was some truth to my assumption."

"You need to stop playing psychological games with people when you're bored. Take up a hobby, maybe."

"Judging from your tone, I take it I was actually right. Wow. I should try that particular trick more often."

"It's not. It wasn't like that. I'm just doing a favour for someone."

"Is he with you now?" His voice sounds strangely hollow.

"He's...here. Somewhere. But it's not - I'm not - Not that I have to explain anything to you anyway. I'm just making the record clear."

"Okay, okay. I get it. Where are you anyway? You're not in Singapore anymore. Did you seriously leave because I tracked you down? You never were this impulsive." There's a fondness there that Iker can't bear to listen to.

"If you found me before, you can find me now." 

"Yeah, I could." He doesn't know what that means. Doesn't know what he wants it to mean.

"Things change. Things change a lot in a short time. You should know that." It's less forceful than he intended it to be.

"Stop deflecting. Something's up. What have you gotten yourself into?" he asks, and he sounds genuinely concerned.

Iker resents everything about him then.

"Are you still in Madrid?"

"Yeah."

"Well, stay there. Because I won't be coming back."

Only there was a time when he'd told him he'd never leave. Maybe Iker isn't that good at keeping promises either.

 

*

 

Stealing things or stealing ideas, the concept is the same. You place the target at the centre of a maze and try to figure out the easiest route to it, the route with the least obstacles. Then you work on taking all of those obstacles down. It's simple, once you know the layout, know the plan. Iker's always been good with the plan.

Well, until he's not.

Iker meets David days after he pulls off the greatest diamond heist in years.


	3. Interlude

Iker finds Ricky sleeping in a stranger's bed in Paris.

"Seriously?" he says.

Ricky sort of half-shrugs before he tries to untangle his legs from the covers and then seek out his clothes from wherever they had gotten flung under the bed (oh, Iker thinks, beige, not cream, as he emerges with his suit jacket).

Iker just shakes his head at him and tries to hide a smile.

In the two or so years he's known him, Ricky has probably picked up five guys, total.

This guy, this Xabi Alonso, artist by day and Architect by night (or, you know, in dream) must be something special.


	4. Chapter 4

So, he's isn't wearing the cream suit (that was a bit fanciful on Iker's imagination's part), but a beige one instead. Just as expensive, but less showy. Xabi Alonso, though, when he finally appears, is a lot more casual but effortlessly classy at the same time. Ricky's kind of jealous for a second. And he doesn't get jealous often.

The first thing he says, calmly, when he sits down, is "Are we dreaming right now?"

Ricky laughs. "I think you're too sharp for us to pull that one over on you."

"Ah, well, I've heard things about you too. Impressive things."

"Really? Wow. Maybe you should conveniently repeat some of those things you've heard when you meet Iker."

Xabi smiles at him. "Tell me about the job then."

"You only get details after you agree to do it."

"Is that fair?"

"Well, in this business, secrecy is more imperative than fairness. I think you'll understand."

"Oh, trust me. I do. I also decided to work with you before we got off the phone yesterday. I thought this meeting was just a formality."

"Well, it doesn't have to be. If you don't want. And if you're in. Maybe I can tell you about the job somewhere...less formal?"

"I'd like that."

*

"This is nice. Kind of small, I guess, but I like the whole tasteful bohemian thing you have going on."

Ricky stops to examine the chess set on the coffee table. "Nice. A...friend of mine had a solid ivory set once. Really pretty if you didn't think about the poor elephants."

"Want to play?"

"I - Okay."

Xabi sits down on the rug. "Come on. It's Persian. Totally suited to your refinements."

"How do you know about my refinements?" Ricky says, sitting down on the opposite side of the table, taking off his shoes and tucking his legs under him. He runs a hand through the carpet though, says, "Nice," again.

"You're wearing a thousand dollar suit," Xabi says, as Ricky wraps his fingers around a white pawn.

"It comes with the territory," he replies, making the first move. "So this will be your first job?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"I remember my first job."

"How did it go?"

"Terribly," Ricky smiles.

"How did you get into it?"

"Ah, you know, the usual way. I wanted to impress someone."

"And did you?"

"I don't know. Maybe. So who do _you_ want to impress?"

"No one. Everyone. I don't know."

"You only feel like a God for a while. Take it from me. It's worth it though. Maybe."

Xabi takes one of Ricky's knights, and he curses, says, "Okay, now it's on."

*

Xabi's biting his lip, concentrating hard. Ricky just looks at him, amused.

Finally, he sets his jaw, carefully picks up his queen.

Ricky stops the movement with his own hand, wraps his fingers gently around Xabi's.

Xabi's hand goes absolutely still in his grasp, and he looks up at him. Ricky guides his face forward with his other hand, kisses him, all breath and tongue and desperation.

He doesn't stop touching him as he moves around the table (he vaguely registers the board shifting, pieces falling over), presses him into the carpet with one hand on his chest, and covers his mouth again.

*

"Is this how you usually avoid losing?" Xabi says later, when they're lying spent in his bed.

"No. Not usually. But I wasn't going to lose. Just to clarify."

"Okay, whatever helps you sleep at night." Xabi smiles up at the ceiling.

*

When he wakes up, Xabi's gone. There's a note on his vacated pillow, though. 

_had to go in to the gallery to meet a buyer. be back in a couple hours. make yourself at home. x._

Then, there's a knock on the door. Ricky sighs, decides they'll go away eventually.

Then there are some weird metallic scratching noises. Ricky tenses as he hears the door open a few moments after.

Then comes Iker's booming voice. "Ricky? Are you here?" He starts breathing again.

"I'm in here."

"Did you just pick the lock?" he asks incredulously when Iker's standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

"Seriously?" Iker says in response. Ricky shrugs, hoping to convey, _He was hot_ , or _It's been a long time_ , or something in between those two.

Iker gets it. Iker gets a lot of things he doesn't say out loud.

 

*

 

They meet on a train in Venice while Ricky's pulling off a job.

It's a year to the day since Ricky lost Sheva. Iker won't find that out until later, though.


	5. Chapter 5

Ricky meets him when he's twenty.

He's well-dressed, in a hurry, obviously, briskly making his way through the train, clutching a briefcase in his gloved hand.

"Sorry," Ricky mutters, after he conveniently bumps into him.

"Watch where you're going, kid," he says, but not unkindly. Ricky registers he can't be more than five years older than him.

Six years, he corrects himself, when he opens his wallet and checks his ID card after the man's already disembarked.

*

He's only just gotten off himself when he's grabbed and shoved into the back of a van, a rag put over his face until he slumps onto the floor.

*

There's a bag over his head when he comes to. His hands are tied behind his back. He starts to struggle and the bag's removed. He's in a dimly lit room, facing a man across the table.

It's the man from the train.

"What are you doing?" he asks, seriously dreading the answer.

"Why are you stealing wallets from office workers on trains?" he asks, smoothly.

"Why do you think?"

"No, I mean, why are you doing that when your university test scores were off the charts? Why did you drop out anyway?"

"That wasn't for me."

"So petty crime is the better alternative?"

"I don't... I don't know what else to do. And I'm good at it."

"Yeah, you are, but it's still not going to make you rich. I think maybe you need to learn some new skills."

Ricky is very, very interested by that.

"You mean what you were doing on that train. Because you're sure as hell not an office worker."

"See? You _are_ as smart as I thought you were."

*

The first thing he says (and the thing Ricky will say to anyone else he works with in the future is), "You don't tell anyone about this. If you do, you and everyone you care for in this world will be in mortal danger. I don't make the rules, but my clients are usually powerful, dangerous people who stand to lose quite a bit if you breach their confidentiality. Do you understand?"

Ricky says, "Yes," faster than he's ever done in his entire life.

*

Sheva's an Extractor, the best in the world according to his team, but he'll never be arrogant enough to claim the title. He just does the job, gets the cash, goes on to another. It's not about the glamour for him. Not like it is to Ricky. 

Ricky's a fast learner. Sheva and his Architect (who is grudging at best) teach him everything he needs to know. In a year, he's outbuilding both of them. Sheva tells him, "You were born to do this."

*

His first job feels like a five-hour-long adrenaline rush. Everything goes according to plan (and Sheva is all about the plan; it's something he'll admire in Iker later on too), they get in and out without alerting the target, and they land at LAX satisfied with the outcome. They have everything they need. 

They deliver it to the client, retreat to a hotel for the night to celebrate. Well, the boys at least. Sheva sequesters himself in his room looking for the next target. He gets anxious when a job is over. Ricky knows this. His mind needs to be occupied. Ricky thinks he knows other more enjoyable ways to do that though.

"Hey -" he protests as Ricky shuts his laptop.

"Shh." He takes him by the hand, leads him over to the bed, gently pushes him down onto the edge.

He wraps a hand around his tie, fits himself in between his legs, breathes in deeply.

"You don't," Sheva whispers. "You don't have to do this." He can feel the vibrations of the words against his chest.

"You've given me everything," Ricky says. "But I want more."

*

Sheva talks in his sleep, mostly in Russian, but sometimes there are English phrases scattered throughout. He wants to collect them all, put them in order, arrange them into something complete and sensible. He wants to know everything about him, wants to feed off of it, wants it to sustain him the way forbidden things always have. Wants it to be his and his alone, like some precious thing, like a talisman buried deep underneath his skin. But at the same time, he's so terrified of knowing.

*

They always fuck with the lights on. Sheva doesn't allow himself to revel in his victories, but this is different. Ricky thinks he just doesn't want to let the darkness tarnish this, or he's afraid, maybe, he's afraid that this, too, is just a dream. A dream that can slip away at any moment.

Ricky takes his hand in his, presses both against his chest, his beating heart.

_I'm here, I'm here, I'm here._

Sheva's never the first to touch, but he always holds on the tightest.

*

They get a place in Milan, and they try to come back there as often as they can between jobs. They've never thought about settling down, either of them, but it's nice to have a centre. Nice to have some permanence, after living with almost perpetual jetlag and disorientation.

He still has dreams, but less frequently. Ricky just rests his head on his chest, tries to ride them out with him.

They don't talk about it.

*

Then Sheva gets one phone call and it all goes to hell.

*

"The Russian mob?" Ricky asks, feeling panicked for the first time in years of all kinds of unexpected dangerous situations.

"I owe them money."

"You owe the Russian mob money."

"Yes. It's - it's complicated. I thought I got away. I thought it was - Fuck. I'm such a fucking idiot."

"Hey, hey. Calm down. We have money, we'll just -"

"No, no. It's not enough. And I'd die before I paid them. Or went back..."

"You worked for them, didn't you?" Ricky asks softly. It's the final puzzle piece. He's been suspecting something like this for a while.

"I - That was another life. A life I'll never go back to."

"What are we going to do?"

Sheva looks at him properly for the first time, gently takes his face in his hands. 

He presses a kiss to Ricky's temple, says, "Everything will be okay. I promise."

This is the first time Ricky doesn't believe him.

*

The night he leaves, Ricky reads the note over and over so many times that words start blurring into each other. 

He's not dreaming, but he thinks that with every tear that falls onto the page, the room becomes closer and closer to dissolving too. 

*

Two years later, he's sitting in a warehouse telling Iker everything.

"Why did he leave?"

"To protect me. Everything he did was to protect me."

"And Ronaldo said he could help you in exchange for this job?"

"Yes. He has connections in the Russian mafia. Well, connections everywhere, really. He said he could pay off the debt...and help us disappear."

He pauses, lets Iker contemplate that for a minute, before his tone is urgent again.

"We need the best team we can possibly get for this. It's too risky otherwise. You understand that, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah. You know I do."

"Iker," he says after a couple more moments of silence. "This is my last job."

"Yeah, I got that," he responds quietly.


End file.
